


strike the match (we're a perfect match)

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bodyswap, Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Violence, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Season 2 AU, Unresolved Sexual Tension, in which they fall in love at the most inconvenient time, you guessed it a freaky friday au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: There’s something about the cadence of the words that strikes Flint as familiar, enough so that he lowers the gun in shock. “Silver?”“What the fuck,” Silver repeats, only he says it with Flint’s face, and Flint’s head is starting to hurt with all of this. “What the fuck?”“Stop that,” Flint says automatically, and it’s only then that he can see the dark curls springing into the corner of his vision. He looks down at his arms- and he recognizes the rings, the long fingers, the broad palms. “Am I-”“Yeah,” Silver says. "You- god."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> because what's a better way to have large amounts of misunderstandings, pining, and sexual tension, than with a freaky friday au (except they are in love)
> 
> i'm jamesbarlow on tumblr!

Flint stirs, and he instantly knows something is wrong. 

 

It’s not that he’s taken ill - rather, the opposite. He feels loose, his limbs feel strangely light even as he shifts on the hammock.

 

Flint opens his eyes, then. Last night, he had fallen asleep in his cabin, on the small cot hanging from the wall. He sits up, flexes his shoulders, trying to clear the muddle of sleep from his mind, to remember how he’d somehow sleepwalked his way into the main quarters. 

 

He goes to step off the hammock, and promptly falls on his face when his feet don’t hit the ground where he expects them to. 

 

As Flint tries to recover, his head smarting from where he’d knocked it, he can hear snickers coming from above him. 

 

“Good morning there, princess,” one of the men nearby says. Flint’s about to get up to strangle him when Dooley loyally adds, “Hey now, he just had a late night.”

 

He finally gets to his feet, and some of the confusion on his face must show (how exactly did he get there, and _in what universe does the crew speak to him like this_ ) when Dooley says, “All right there, John?” 

 

_John?_

 

“Just fine,” Flint bites out, already moving to get to his cabin. He nearly skids across the deck, squinting in the sunlight as he makes it to the heavy cabin door. He’s not sure what he expects to see as he pushes open the door, but it’s certainly not to see himself, asleep in his cot. 

 

“What the fuck,” Flint says. 

 

He- _other Flint_ \- shifts in his sleep, throwing an arm over his face. “I’m still sleeping,” the man with his face mumbles, “G’away.” 

 

“Get up,” Flint says again, and he can feel a headache forming. _Please let be this some sort of hellish dream_. 

 

Other Flint opens his eyes, then, and they flicker over to Flint. The other man jumps up with a loud shout, catching himself on the edge of the cot as he rapidly straightens up. “What the fuck!”

 

“That’s what I said,” Flint says tiredly, and he reaches for the pistol he knows he keeps on top of the bookshelf to his left. “What is this?” 

 

“It’s me,” Other Flint says in an insistent voice, which turns slightly fearful when Flint raises the gun. “Damn it- Flint?” 

 

There’s something about the cadence of the words that strikes Flint as familiar, enough so that he lowers the gun in shock. “Silver?” 

 

“What the fuck,” Silver repeats, only he says it with Flint’s face, and Flint’s head is starting to hurt with all of this. “What the fuck?”  


“Stop that,” Flint says automatically, and it’s only then that he can see the dark curls springing into the corner of his vision. He looks down at his arms- and he recognizes the rings, the long fingers, the broad palms. “Am I-” 

 

“Yeah,” Silver says. 

 

“Did we-” 

 

“Yeah,” Silver says. 

 

Flint leans back against the door, and he watches as Silver - in his body, because _what the fuck_ \- shakily sits back down on the cot. Silver lifts his hands, turning them over with a strange expression, and then quickly putting them back down on his lap. 

 

After a long moment, Silver says, “Your shoulders are awfully tense,” and Flint frowns. 

  
  
“We seem to have exchanged bodies, and yet you tell me that my shoulders are tense?” The last part of his sentence goes up in volume, and he realizes that the reason why his voice sounds funny to his ears is because it’s Silver’s voice that is passing through his lips. Flint lets more of his weight sag against the door. 

 

“I thought you were in your mid-thirties, maybe early forties, but these shoulders feel like they’re at least sixty,” Silver tells him, and there’s a beat of silence.

 

“ _Sixty_ ,” Flint barks out. Silver laughs, but then looks startled at the sound that bubbles out of his chest. Flint doesn’t blame him- he can’t remember the last time he’s laughed, either. 

 

“Whatever happened,” Flint says then, “We need to fix this.”

 

“Do you have any solutions in mind?” Silver snaps, and Flint lets the back of his head hit the door.

 

“Have you talked to anyone else?” Silver asks then, insistent, and Flint raises an eyebrow. 

 

“I came here as soon as I woke up. Why?” 

 

“I’ll wager that it will not help your captaincy if suddenly you start spouting nonsense over having switched bodies,” Silver points out _. “_ Not to mention, you have an awfully... aggressive countenance. The men might be too afraid of you to do anything about it, but I’d prefer to get my body back with no broken bones.” 

 

Flint’s head throbs. “Since when do you care about my captaincy?” 

 

Something flickers across his expression, too fast for Flint to catch, before Silver replies evenly, “My position on this crew is just as tenuous as yours, as of this moment, might I remind you. Whether you like it or not, our fates are linked as of this moment.”

 

“We can’t leave this room,” Flint says then, wearily. “Whatever happened, it has to be reversible.” 

 

If he has to live out the rest of his life in this smarmy bastard’s skin, Flint will just save them both some grief and throw himself overboard now. 

 

“I know. But we’ll have to leave eventually,” Silver points out. “But for now, we should try to solve this problem before thinking about that.” 

 

Flint narrows his eyes at Silver. “You seem awfully unconcerned about this.” 

 

“Oh, don’t you worry, captain, I’m just panicking on the inside,” Silver says, rather cheerfully, and Flint watches his own face stretch into a grin. “Now, what’s the last thing you remember when you were - ah - in your own body?” 

 

•••

 

See, what Flint remembers last, he’s not exactly proud of. 

 

He and Silver had been in the cabin late that night, and Flint had been going over the maps on his desk, trying to chart their upcoming route. Rather, he was attempting to do so, because Silver had been sitting next to him, perched on part of the table and chattering away like some kind of bird whose sole purpose was to irritate Flint. 

 

That’s what he kept on telling himself, even as Silver leaned over to point something out on the map, his breath tickling Flint’s ear as he leaned in close to whisper in low, rumbling tones, as Flint felt shivers running up and down his spine.

 

Somewhere along the line, they had gone from an uneasy alliance to what Flint began to realize as something that resembled actual camaraderie. For the better part of the last few hours they had spent holed up in the cabin, Silver had actually laughed at a few of the drier quips Flint has made, and Flint- God help him - might not actively hate the other man’s mere presence with each passing minute. He had gulped down more rum in the meantime, filling up Silver’s cup as soon as it grew low as well, in an effort not to dissect this particular relationship.

 

It had been going well, all things considered, until Silver had leaned in and put a hand over Flint’s, in a gesture that was unmistakable in its forwardness. Flint could feel Silver’s eyes on him, the way he minutely shifted, not accommodating Flint’s space anymore but instead insinuating himself, pressed alongside him, forcing Flint to acknowledge he didn’t hate the feeling of Silver along him - 

 

Silver’s thumb dragged its way down the inside of Flint’s wrist, and before either of them could do as much as take another breath, Flint had yanked his hand back, hating himself instantly for the way that Silver’s once-loose expression shuttered. 

 

“You should be going,” he had said, and Silver had stood up and left without another word.

 

In his abrupt absence, Flint could feel the draft coming in from the window, the air that had chilled around him, and suddenly the candlelight had felt less welcoming, a far cry from the cozy light it had emitted just moments ago. He finishes his rum.

 

Flint had gone to bed soon after, feeling far more alone than he had in years.

 

Then he had woken up in Silver’s hammock with Silver’s face, which was his number one concern as of that day. 

 

•••

 

After the initial shock wears off somewhat, when Flint stops flinching each time he sees Silver’s inquisitive expression on his own face, he starts thinking about ways they’re going to fix this. 

 

Flint’s about to ask if Silver can recall anything happening last night, when he remembers Silver’s disappointed expression by candlelight. 

 

He figures if Silver remembered anything, he would bring it up himself, and tries instead to think of how to solve this problem. They’re running out of time before one of the crew seeks one or both of them out, he knows, and it won’t be long before one of them knocks on the door. 

 

“What if we’ve been cursed?” Silver muses, from where he’s still lying back on Flint’s cot. He’s yet to tie up Flint’s shirt, so it’s revealing far more skin down his front than Flint would ever be comfortable showing. To be fair, Flint had tied up his curly hair within two minutes, even as Silver made a face when Flint had picked up a piece of rope to fix the hair into place on the top of his head. 

 

“Who would curse us?” Flint questions, wondering to himself if this could be attributed to a hallucination from bad rum. He’d heard of strange things happening from bad drink. 

 

“Another jealous pirate captain. Have you spurned the advances of any sea witches in the last few months?” 

 

“I think I’d remember that,” Flint says dryly. “Perhaps we’ve both been poisoned?” 

 

Silver snorts. “That’s a typical idea from you,” and he rolls his eyes when Flint glares at him. “We’d be dead then. We have to figure out how I’m inside of you.” 

 

Flint chokes a little, waving his hand when Silver raises an eyebrow. “Trust me, I’d like to know just as much as you how to fix- this,” Flint says, and Silver lets out a loud exhale. He’s starting to feel the tiniest bit of hysteria creeping up on him when Silver sits up suddenly, wincing when his too-long arm hits the wall. 

 

“I have an idea,” Silver says, slowly. “We need a jolt.”

 

“A jolt,” Flint repeats. 

 

“I mean,” Silver bites his lip, and Flint never wants to see that expression on his face ever again, “We hit into each other, and maybe- just maybe, we revert back?” 

 

Flint stares at him for a long time, long enough so that Silver begins to backtrack. “I mean, it’s not the worst idea-” 

 

“How exactly would you suggest us _hitting into each other_?” Flint says before Silver can continue. 

 

“We go to both sides of the cabin, and we run at each other,” Silver says.

 

“That’s a terrible idea,” Flint says. 

 

Which is why it’s utterly inexplicable that he finds himself, not five minutes later, positioned near the bookshelves, while on the opposite side of the cabin, Silver stands in front of the cot. 

 

“Don’t hit my head on the desk,” Flint warns, and Silver actually stretches his arms, bends his neck to both sides. 

 

“On the count of three, then?” Silver says, having the audacity to grin while he drops into a readied stance. 

 

“This is a terrible idea,” Flint groans. Silver counts to three, and then they’re running at each other. 

 

He has a split moment of suspended hope when they crash into each other hard enough so that Flint sees stars, but then it rapidly goes downhill as they crumple. Silver’s elbow hits him in the sternum, and Flint can feel and hear a thud from where his shoulder knocks into Silver’s head hard, the low huff that comes from either one of them. 

 

They fall to the ground, Silver on top of him, and Flint gasps as all the air is knocked out of his lungs. Silver is heavy on top of him, their legs tangled together, one hand squashing Flint’s nose as they writhe for a moment.

 

Most disappointingly, from what he can tell as the edges of his vision go slightly dark, they haven’t switched bodies back. As Flint tries to breathe in again, Silver making sad noises from somewhere above him, there are hurried footsteps coming close. Then the cabin door is opening. 

 

“I heard a crash and- uh. Captain?” 

  
Flint finally gets the air back in his lungs again, and both he and Silver turn to look at the door. Billy is towering there at the entrance, looking rather uncomfortable at the sight before him - and oh, that’s right, because to him, it looks like Flint has Silver pinned to the ground, and they’re both red faced and panting in a certainly compromising position.

 

“Just fine, Billy,” Silver manages to say from above him, and Flint cannot control the flush that spreads on his cheeks when Silver turns his head back to look at him, and he realizes just how close they are. Silver’s breath is warm on his face when he says, “We were just discussing something when I, ah, slipped.” 

 

“Right,” Billy says. “Well, I’ll be not here,” and he exits quickly, slamming the door shut behind him. 

 

“You slipped,” Flint repeats, and Silver scowls down at him. It doesn’t escape Flint’s notice that Silver’s perched above him, elbows just above both of his shoulders, that they’re still pressed together from chest to toe. 

 

“There really wasn’t a good answer to that question,” Silver says. “Are you all right?” 

 

“Just fine,” Flint says bitterly. 

 

Silver gets up, then, wincing as he does so, and Flint takes the hand that he offers, pulling himself up as well. “You suggested that we swim out to take a Spanish warship, and yet, this might have been the worse idea,” Silver says, massaging his jaw. 

 

“I think we’re a bad influence on each other,” Flint says with a groan as he flexes, trying to ascertain the worst of the damage. Silver’s staring at him, though, and he frowns. “What?” 

  
“Nothing,” Silver says. “Well, since that didn’t work, I think we’re going to have to address the next part of this problem.” 

 

“We’re going to have to pose as each other in front of the crew,” Flint realizes grimly. “We’re set to land to resupply in Port Royal by tomorrow, but we need to be able to fake it until then.” He doesn’t want to think how the crew would handle them both claiming exactly their predicament - probably just shoot them both.  


“Rest assured, captain, I am a master at faking it,” Silver says with a bright grin that looks incredibly out of place on Flint’s face. 

 

“First of all, stop smiling,” Flint says, and the grin drops right off of his face. “I’ll give you some pointers, but your best bet is to talk very little, and let Billy give most, if not all, of the orders.” 

 

“You mean I’m not to use my new face to fulfill my dream of being a feared pirate captain?” Silver asks.

 

Flint just looks at him. 

 

“Kidding, kidding,” Silver says. “Well, if we’re giving pointers now, I have some for you.” 

 

“Do you, now?” 

 

“You’re going to have to interact with the crew, I’m afraid,” Silver tells him, and Flint wants nothing more than to push him overboard from the smug expression he has on now. “I’m quite chatty. If you don’t want anyone to suspect anything is wrong, you’re going to have to keep it up.”

 

“Oh god,” Flint says. “Perhaps we can get one of the boats-” 

 

“We’re not rowing to Port Royal,” Silver says, mercilessly cutting him off. “You’re going to have to grin and bear it, quite literally.” He looks over Flint with a critical eye. “Also, don’t touch my hair.” 

 

•••

 

When they both emerge from the cabin eventually, Flint half-expects to see forty-something pairs of accusing eyes on him and Silver.

 

In reality, most of the crew are busy actually sailing the ship to give them mind, the others either below the deck or loitering on deck. One or two of them give Silver a nod as they walk by, but Flint can now see the way they exchange looks when they see that Silver isn’t looking at them.

 

Flint elbows him in the side. Silver jumps. “What?” 

 

“Stand up straight,” he hisses, and Silver shoots him a glare that’s admittedly more like the expression Flint normally wears. “You’re slouching.” 

  
Silver grumbles but he stands up a little more, his knees audibly popping. “How do you stand like this?” 

  
“It’s easier if you maintain it,” Flint starts heatedly, but then he falls silent when Billy approaches them. 

 

Billy, for his credit, does not bring up the events he had walked in on before. “Captain,” he says in way of a greeting, but then he frowns at Flint. “If I could have a word with the captain.”   
  
Flint glances out of the corner of his eye at Silver, who looks vaguely disturbed as his eyes rove over the deck. He nudges him, and Silver jumps to attention. “Mr. Silver can stay,” Silver says, probably not knowing what else to say. Luckily, in Flint’s voice, it sounds much more ominous, and Billy sighs. 

 

“The men want forty-eight hours in Port Royal,” Billy says, “And I’ve come to negotiate on their behalf with you.” 

 

“They can have it-” Silver’s cut off with a stifled yelp from Flint prodding him in the side, hopefully unseen by Billy. “Twenty four hours.” 

 

Billy eyes him. “Captain, twenty four-” 

 

“Twenty four hours. Unless you’d like to explain to the men why they are to not go into Port Royal at all,” Silver says with a little too much ease. 

 

It works, though, and Billy steps back with a sigh. “All right,” he says. He looks back at Flint, and Flint realizes that he’s unconsciously crossed his arms behind his back while Silver was speaking. He loosens his posture, even trying to half-heartedly smile at Billy despite his instincts screaming, but Billy still looks at him with far more distrust than he can remember Billy looking at Silver. 

 

“Is that all?” Silver asks lazily, with an undercurrent of annoyance like Billy’s personally wasting his time. Flint would be offended if only it didn’t work, as Billy nods once before leaving them again. 

 

Silver lets out an exhale once Billy is out of earshot. “How did that go?” 

 

“It was acceptable,” Flint says. “Harsh, but it would be something I would say.” 

 

Silver grins at him, and Flint can’t help but to quirk his mouth up back, until he remembers where they are, and what he has to do now. “I’m going to have to smooth this over with the men, aren’t I,” he realizes. “How the fuck would you do that?” 

 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Silver tells him, nudging him in the shoulder. “Just remember what I said.” 

 

Which is how Flint finds himself in the middle of a crowd of men below deck, trying to reason with them and not lose his temper. It’s a losing battle. 

 

“Twenty four hours, Billy said,” one of the men- Flint thinks his name is Dobbs, but honestly, he could never be bothered to know most of their names - spits out. “That’s barely enough time for a fuck and a drink!”  


“We all know you’d be done with the fuck in under a minute,” another one of the men says, and Dobbs shoves at him. 

 

“Listen here,” Flint tries before a fight can break out. When they don’t turn to him, he raises his voice. “Fellow crew!”  


That works, somewhat, as Dobbs turns back to face him. Flint continues, trying to channel Silver’s disarming charm, “The captain recognizes your frustration, but trust me, it is in your best interests to limit our stay in Port Royal.” 

 

“The captain don’t care about our interests,” Dobbs hisses, and Flint can feel his lip curl. “Fuck him, and fuck you for hiding behind him like some coward-” 

 

“But it’s what’s been decided, and none of you have any effect on that decision,” Flint grits out, and Dobb’s eyes widen. He continues, “Unless any of you would like to challenge me on this?” 

 

There’s a hush that falls over the room, as men beyond the circle Flint’s accumulated turn to look. Flint doesn’t blink as he stares at Dobbs, feeling the weight of the dagger at his side. 

 

He thinks he’s about to get into a serious fight - as he recalls, Silver was getting punched in the gut only weeks ago for much less - when one of the other men, Muldoon, lets out a low whistle. “Silver’s grown some guts, ey, Dobbs?” he says, pushing into the other man good-naturedly. “He’s ready to fight for the captain and all!”

 

That serves to break the tension somewhat, as Dobbs rolls his eyes. “He must’ve, if he’s eating that pork he cooks-” and Flint finds himself jostled into the crowd as they begin to pick on him good-naturedly, a far cry from the previous dangerous mood.

 

He soon learns that when the men are not sailing, they’re either drinking or drunk. In any case, Flint is unused to drinking with so many others, and so he has no choice but to accept tankard after tankard of ale. 

 

It’s a bit of a mistake, he realizes in hindsight, when he staggers back into the captain. He refuses to sleep in Silver’s hammock again, after all. 

 

Silver looks up when Flint enters the room. “There you are. I’d thought by now, they’d surely stuff your body out a porthole,” Silver jokes, but there is definite relief on his face as his eyes roam over Flint. “What happened to you?”

 

“I tried to be you,” Flint enunciates, the words feeling heavy on his tongue, “And it didn’t quite work as I had expected. Also, you have a lower tolerance than I thought.” 

 

Silver stares at him. “Are you drunk?” 

 

“You’re shorter than I thought, too,” Flint says, and Silver bristles.   
  
“What do you-”  


“I mean, I have to reach, and then some, for everything,” Flint says, and he makes his way to the cot, sitting down with a heavy thud. “I don’t have to reach that much.”  


He hears Silver huff as he squints, trying to make out how exactly his shoes are tied onto his feet. “Rest assured, captain,” Silver says from across the room, “I too am counting down the days until we can get this fixed. By the way, I don’t suppose that in your inebriated state, you have any sudden insights on how exactly we’re going to find a solution to this?” 

 

“I miss my beard,” Flint says in response to that, and then Silver is in front of him, kneeling on the ground. He sighs. “And there’s _that_ , too.” 

 

“What’s that?” Silver says distractedly, pulling at Flint’s shoelaces. 

  
“You on your knees in front of me,” Flint says, and Silver pulls too hard at a lace, nearly falling over and swearing under his breath. Flint helps by kicking the boots off, to the side, as Silver regains his balance. “It’s unfair.” 

 

“Unfair is not the word I’d use,” Silver says, then he blushes. Flint knew he could blush- he has a few fond memories of Miranda and Thomas trying their hardest to see just how red they could make him - but it’s strange, somehow, seeing it from another’s eyes, as the freckles on Silver’s face blend in with the rising pink color. “What do you mean?” 

 

Flint swallows. Even as he feels loose, unburdened by the liquor, he knows he has to be careful in what he says. “Sometimes, I don’t know how to control myself,” he begins, then cuts himself off. “It’s strange. You have my face. I don’t like having this conversation now.”

 

Silver’s smiling now, but there’s a hint of sadness in it as he rises again. “You should rest,” he says, “I’ll take the floor.”

 

Flint looks at the cot, then back at Silver. “There’s enough room,” he says, and he leans back on the cot, moving close to the wall. “I don’t mind.”

 

Silver’s quiet for a long moment, and then he crosses the room. Flint thinks he’s leaving but then Silver’s blowing out the candles on the desk, until they’re engulfed in the dark. Flint can hear him come back, the quiet shuffle as he removes his boots as well, then the creak of the mattress as Silver sits down next to him, finally lying back right beside him. 

 

After a few minutes of both of them breathing in and out, silent, Silver whispers to him, “I’ll bet that when you’re sober in the morning, you’ll regret this.” 

 

Flint snorts, the sound too loud considering how close they are to each other.

 

“I think I could use the reminder,” Flint starts, but then sleep is finally taking hold of him, and he slips under. 

 

•••

 


	2. Chapter 2

•••

 

He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later to the morning light streaming in through the cabin windows.

 

Flint blinks, wondering if as soon as he picks up his head, the massive hangover is going to hit him, but even as his eyes adjust to the morning light, the only affliction he's noticing is a dry mouth, not even an accompanying headache. 

 

He realizes, belatedly, that the edges of his vision red, and that's due to the fact that there is reddish brown hair piled on his chest. Flint coughs out a piece of hair from his mouth- his own hair- as he remembers the situation they’re in, the events of yesterday flooding back to him. 

 

He elbows his bedmate. “Wake up.”

 

He can tell the moment that Silver wakes up because his breathing changes, and then he’s groaning. “What-”

 

“Your hair’s in my face,” Flint tells him.

 

“It’s your hair,” Silver grumbles, trying to roll away from him, but only succeeding in falling off the bed. “Ow.”

 

Flint stretches out on the bed as Silver makes more groaning noises from on the ground. Then he recognizes those sounds. He’s heard those noises coming from himself under very different, much more pleasurable circumstances, and he can feel himself flush at the picture that comes to his mind -“Silver, get up.”

 

“You’re the one who let me roll off,” Silver says, but he stops groaning and he gets to his feet rather stiffly. “How are you ever upright?”

 

“What do you mean?”  


 

“My knees feel like someone’s shot through them,” Silver complains, leaning down to put on his boots. “Christ, I feel-”

 

“Old?” Flint finishes for him, icily, and Silver bites his tongue. “You didn’t have a blanket last night,” Flint continues. “The cold makes them worse.” 

 

“Makes them- what _happened_ to you?” 

 

“Age,” Flint says tartly, moving to put on his own boots. “You should be on deck right now.”

 

“And what, you’re going to stay in here like some sort of- “ Silver cuts himself off suddenly, and Flint raises an eyebrow. “Nothing. I’ll be out on deck.” 

 

“You’ve got to tell Billy and DeGroot to make the maneuvers into Port Royal,” Flint says. “Tell them not to cut too close to the east shore, and if they manage to catch the-”

 

“Catch the northern wind, tack between the islands, yes, you told me,” Silver says. “Try to enjoy your lie-in.”  


 

“I’m going out there with you,” Flint hisses, as he follows Silver out the door. Outside, there’s a warm breeze that buffers their faces as he continues under his breath, “You wouldn’t last _two minutes_ out there without my help.”

 

“Is that a challenge, then?” Silver says, and Flint barely resists the urge to throttle him in favor of looking to where DeGroot has been apparently waiting for the captain. They meet him on the foredeck. 

 

“Captain,” DeGroot says, looking only slightly less irritated as Silver nods to him. “We’re getting close to Port Royal.” 

 

“We’re going to tack between the islands, try to catch the northern wind,” Silver says, and DeGroot frowns. 

 

“Tacking between them? Might I ask your logic in that particular maneuver?” DeGroot questions, and Silver sends a barely concealed panicked look at Flint. 

 

Flint just stares right back, as Silver’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Two can play at this game. Besides, he knows that Silver can bullshit his way out of this. He just wants to make him sweat, a little. Call it revenge for the complaining. 

 

“We want to avoid losing the wind-” Silver begins, turning back to DeGroot, and although his tone is of the right sort of arrogant confidence, Flint sees where this is going. He sways slightly, enough to knock into Silver ever so slightly. 

 

Silver changes the direction of his sentence. “ -as usual, but more importantly, we want to avoid the shipping lane-”

 

Flint hits into him, slightly harder. 

 

“-for common sense. But most importantly, not cut too close to the eastern shore,” Silver finishes, and wisely shuts his mouth. 

 

“Sure,” DeGroot says, after a moment, and squints at him. “Captain, are you all right?” 

 

Silver narrows his eyes, and Flint’s at least glad he can menace like Flint, even if his nautical skills leave much to be desired, so it seems. “Focus on the ship, Mr. DeGroot.” 

 

DeGroot sighs, and he jerks his head to the side. “Aye, captain. Billy’s been looking for Mr. Silver, by the way.” 

 

As he leaves them, Flint and Silver exchange a look. “To Billy, then?” Flint says. 

 

“Try not to slide into military posture,” Silver says.

 

•••

 

Billy’s waiting for him just below deck, at the bottom of the stairs. He looks him up and down when Flint approaches. “What’s the matter with you?” 

 

“Pardon me?” Flint says. 

 

“Something’s wrong with your face,” Billy says, searching his expression in the dim light, and Flint resists the urge to frown more, and instead raises his eyebrows like he’s seen Silver do.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Billy. Is there a point to this?” 

 

He’s being too aloof, he knows, as Billy’s eyebrows raise in surprise. Flint tries to amend his words, in a way that he knows will appease Billy. “Sorry,” Flint mutters. “The captain’s been very... demanding, as of late.”

 

“Demanding,” Billy repeats, flatly. “Of course. God, you’ve been spending too much time with him, haven’t you.”

 

Flint frowns now. “What?”

 

  
“With Flint. You’re - Christ, you’re getting his mannerisms.” Billy seems to be realizing something, and with horrifying clarity. “You’re speaking like him even.” 

 

“I am not,” Flint hisses, and he tries to modulate his tone to sound more like something Silver would say. But what does he know about how Silver speaks to Billy in private? “Who do you think I am?” .

 

“You’re standing like he does,” Billy says with a grimace, and Flint lets his shoulders relax from the posture he didn’t even know he was holding. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you and him- I know that whatever it was that you two got involved in, I don’t think I want to know, but please tell me that you aren’t compromised when it comes to him.” 

 

“Billy,” Flint says crossly, “Believe me, I am not compromised by Flint.” As he says it, that small, guilty part of his brain flares up, reminding him of what happens to those he holds close - a series of thoughts he especially did not want to go through, especially not in front of Billy. 

 

And _when exactly_ did he consider Silver to be part of this category?

 

Billy eyes him. Flint continues, “What did you need?” 

 

Billy seems to let go his misgivings, though, and he says, “I was wondering if you wanted to stay on the ship, or if I should.”

 

“Aren’t all the men headed to shore?” Flint asks, then he realizes. 

  
“Yes, but the captain’s staying on board,” Billy says, a faint wrinkle in his brow like he’s perplexed that Silver’s being particularly slow today. Which is what it certainly appears like, since Flint’s trying not to snap at the implication that he needs to be looked after like some child. “Do you think he’s not?” 

 

“Right,” Flint grits out, “The captain. I’ll stay.” They need to keep to their usual behaviors, after all, even if Silver is dying to get into Port Royal. Something ugly curls in his stomach, for reasons he doesn’t quite care to consider. “I’d best be off, then.” 

 

Billy nods. “All right-” but Flint’s already turning to make his way back to above deck. 

 

•••

 

He spends the rest of the day going around the ship doing precisely nothing. He’s not sure how in the fuck Silver has managed to worm his way onto the crew to be eating and getting paid like the rest of them while apparently doing very little work. Flint tries to pick up the slack, but the other crew members give him such strange looks that he soon is forced to abandon even the most menial tasks that he can see need doing. Even when he ventures to the galley- Is Silver even the cook, still? - the man working there just quietly takes the bowl right back from him. 

 

Apparently he’s underestimated the extent to which Silver has made the crew indebted to him. 

 

They’re approaching Port Royal when Flint finally finds Silver once again. The man is standing on the foredeck, and as Flint stands below, he looks down directly at Flint. They make eye contact, and Silver nods once. Flint goes to meet him in the cabin, taking care to reach slightly more on each step as not to fall on his face with his slightly shorter legs.

 

“I thought I’d pass out from the heat wearing this damn jacket,” Silver groans, his back to Flint. “How do you manage to keep it on practically the entire time I’ve seen you?” 

 

Flint closes the door behind him. “You should stay on the ship,” he says instead of replying, the memory of his conversation with Billy still fresh in his mind. 

 

Silver looks up at that, as he’s in the middle of taking off the heavy jacket, and he turns around with it still half-off. “What?”

 

“Instead of going to Port Royal,” Flint clarifies. “I know you might wish to get off of the ship, but it would be uncharacteristic of me-” 

 

“Yes, yes, I know, we have to keep up appearances,” Silver says, waving a hand impatiently as much as he can with the thick leather bunched around his arms. Despite the fact he looks ridiculous, Flint is utterly unprepared for the sudden surge of fondness that wells up in him. He needs a stiff drink, and soon. “I was asking, why did you bring it up?” 

 

Now it’s Flint turn to be puzzled. “Why did I bring it up? I thought it relevant-”

 

“Did you want to get off the ship?” Silver queries, and there’s something shifting in his eyes, an expression that Flint doesn’t recognize on his own face, something he’s found entirely belongs to Silver. “I didn’t think you would, but I suppose you have some allowance now that you’re wearing my face-” 

 

“No,” Flint says, quickly, making Silver shut his jaw mid-sentence. “I really don’t, in fact.” 

 

There’s a pause. “Good,” Silver says, and they both look at each other for a long moment, before Silver lets out a loud exhale. “This fucking jacket. if it didn’t suit you so well, I’d tear it off right now.” 

 

Flint has to bite back a smile for no apparent reason, and he steps forward. “May I?” 

 

Silver turns around, and Flint looks at the line of freckles down his neck- ones he hadn’t even known that he had there - before slipping a hand into the collar of the jacket, pressed close to the middle of Silver’s back. From this close, he can feel Silver’s - his own heart - beating, a steady thump under the back of his fingers. 

 

“You have to loosen itslightly, here, to get it off with ease,” Flint says, sliding his hand around the collar of the jacket. His knuckles drag along Silver’s spine horizontally, and he can feel Silver suck in a breath from this close proximity. 

 

“What’s the point of a jacket you can’t get on and off easily,” Silver says, and Flint glances up to the profile of his face before slipping the jacket off of him. 

 

“It’s a good jacket. I got it off of a Spanish raid when I first arrived in Nassau, many years ago,” Flint tells him, folding the jacket with some care. He remembers the first time he showed up on Miranda’s doorstep wearing the jacket. She had had a soft, sad look in her eye at the sight of him. When he had asked her about it, she had told him that it was something that she would not expect James McGraw to ever wear. Flint knew that it wasn’t just the coat that she saw.

 

Flint puts the jacket on top of the desk, and when he turns back to Silver, the other man has already turned to face him once again. In close quarters, Flint is forced to look up slightly to meet Silver’s eye, now that their heights have been reversed. 

 

“Did you trim my beard?” Flint asks suddenly, as some excuse for why he’s stood this close to Silver, looking at him for what could have been seconds or years. 

 

Silver lets out a noisy exhale. “Trust you, captain, to notice the smallest things.” He relents under Flint’s continued stare, though. “It was getting scratchy.” 

 

“That’s why there’s oil on my desk,” Flint says, and before he can stop himself, he reaches up to touch the beard on Silver’s face, to drag his fingers through the small amount of hair. “It’s to make it softer, so it doesn’t irritate.” 

 

“And here I thought the oil was for something else,” Silver mumbles, and then he goes a deep crimson color as Flint’s hand freezes in his beard. “Sword cleaning. You use oil on your cutlass, ah, right.” 

 

“Of course,” Flint says hurriedly, ripping his hand away. He turns away before he can see whatever expression is on Silver’s face now. “I presume you’ll be staying in here tonight as well?”  


“Of course,” Silver says from behind him. When Flint faces him again, his face is just a touch too nonchalant to be natural. “I brought a bottle of some of the terrible liquor they’ve been brewing down below.” 

 

•••

 

For the second time in as many evenings, Flint is well on his way to being staggeringly drunk. He and Silver had stayed in the cabin, both slouched on the floor in front of the cot. Flint had taken his pillow down from the bed to hand it to Silver, who had looked bemused until he used it as a cushion from the hard wood floor against the small of his back with it, relaxing with a sigh as Flint opened the bottle of rum. There were some things you just knew from experience, after all. 

 

Silver takes the bottle back, taking a long draw from it. He winces, running a hand over his mouth as he swallows. “That’s absolutely terrible,” he says, passing the bottle back to Flint. “I don’t think it counts as rum.”

 

Flint takes another slug of it. The alcohol burns his throat, but he relishes in the sensation of the comfortable numbness in the tips of his fingers, the warmth in his chest. “Still better than the rotgut in Port Royal,” he says, and Silver half-laughs in agreement. 

 

“Tell me something,” Silver says then, as Flint rolls the bottle between his hands, “Did you know your vision leaves something to be desired?” 

 

“What?” Flint says distractedly, setting the bottle in front of him. 

 

“I’m serious. You can barely make out the faces of the men below you on the foredeck,” Silver tells him, and now it’s Flint’s turn to huff out a laugh. 

 

“I suppose I never knew,” he says. “Is it truly that bad?” 

 

“You’re going to wear a pair of glasses like Dufresne,” Silver teases, and Flint shoves at him.

 

“At least I can grow facial hair,” he retorts, his hand running over his jaw. “I haven’t shaved in a day, and there’s not even a hint of stubble.”

 

“Just you wait,” Silver says, reaching for the bottle again. “It’s nothing, and then, I get this horribly tangled mess of hair sprouting from my face. It’s a nightmare, that’s why I stay clean-shaven.” 

 

“I think you’d look just like a pirate,” Flint tells him, “If you grew a beard.” 

 

“If you’re trying to seduce me into the lifestyle, captain, there are better ways than to tell me to grow a beard,” Silver says, swallowing more rum. “And now I’ll bring it up- the freckles.”  


“What about them?” Flint mumbles. He’s far more drunk than he has any right to be, for them to be idly _gossiping_ about this, for lack of a better word. Silver takes the opportunity to lean in, like he’s sharing something secret, and Flint can’t help but to mirror him, sitting on the ground opposite of him. 

 

“I changed my shirt today, and I didn’t get much of a chance to look at them,” Silver says in a low voice, “But they are _everywhere_.” 

 

Flint blinks slowly. “They’re freckles.”  


 

“Everywhere.” As if to demonstrate, Silver peels of his shirt, and Flint sees his own bare torso right there in front of him, slightly glistening. “I mean-” 

 

As Silver tries to crane his head around, to point out something, Flint finishes the bottle. He’s not quite sure what they’ve just drank, but it’s starting to make his head spin ever so slightly, as he watches Silver contort his shoulders.

 

“Wait,” Silver says, and he jumps up to his feet. Flint watches as he spins around, trying with a great deal of effort to spy the freckles that trail over his shoulders and down his spine. He looks like some sort of dog chasing its own tail, and Flint tells him as much. 

 

“Fuck off,” Silver says, “Hold on- you have a tattoo?” 

 

He’s found the tiny crescent moon on Flint’s upper arm, and Flint rises unsteadily to his feet as well. “I got it when I first got on Nassau,” he says, and he’s tracing the ink before he realizes what he’s doing, suddenly much closer to Silver than he intended. “It was supposed to lend me some legitimacy.”

 

“A tattoo, a leather jacket, both within a short amount of time? Captain, you certainly reinvented your image, didn’t you?” Silver teases, and Flint goes solemn. 

  
  
“I had to,” he says, still tracing the outline of the tiny moon. “I had to give up what I had before.”

 

There’s a warm hand on his, then, and Flint looks up to meet Silver’s eye. “I’m sorry,” Silver says, and his mouth is slightly parted underneath the reddish beard, and Flint can’t even bring himself to regret that he’s noticing this. “If there is one thing I have learned in this life, it is that no man should have to distort himself. The world already does too much of that.” 

 

There’s some heaviness to his tone that suggests something Flint should definitely pry about, but instead, he tries to let out a laugh like before, but it sound soft even to his own ears. “You’re quite the drunken philosopher.” 

 

“Only for you,” Silver says lightly, and the breath catches in Flint’s chest. Something comes over Silver’s expression then, and Flint realizes his hand is still on Silver’s arm. He flattens his fingers, and Silver watches as they curl over the skin there.

 

He reaches out, as if to touch Flint, but his fingertips freeze in the space between them. They’re suspended in that moment, minds clouded by drink. Whatever web lies between them, it has been weaving for a long time. With the sort of clarity that always strikes at inopportune moments, Flint sees that what’s happening, they’ve been dancing around for a long time. 

 

“I can’t,” Flint breathes out after an extended moment, and Silver lets his hand drop. 

  
  
“I know. I don’t know why, especially since every time you look at me, I just think that it might be-” Silver drops his head, then, lets out a sigh that cuts right through Flint, right to the bone. “I’ll go- “

 

“I said I can’t,” Flint continues, and Silver makes a small, pained sound. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want.”

 

Silver looks up, and his green eyes- and God, does Flint wish they were blue right now - fixed on his face like before. “You _want_ ,” Silver says, reverently, and then his mouth is on Flint’s. 

 

Flint groans into his mouth, his hands coming up, but then they’re pulling at Silver’s shirt instead of pulling him away, tugging him closer and down until Flint can greedily map out his mouth, seeking for something he didn’t know he wanted to find. 

 

“God, Flint,” Silver moans, his hands coming up to grasp at Flint’s hair, as Flint moves his mouth from Silver’s to the edge of Silver’s jaw, down the side of his neck. “I have to wonder, is this masturbation?” 

  
“Shut up,” Flint says, then, “You’re talking too much,” as Silver’s hand get caught in the thick curls on the back of his head. Flint lets out a low groan when Silver tugs, the pain radiating into pleasure from a thousand different points. “I’m hoping whatever this is, this will do it.”

 

“Do it,” Silver murmurs, and his teeth are back on Flint’s lower lip, pulling and then releasing before he frowns, and he says, “Wait- what do you mean?” 

 

Flint tilts his head in, breathing him in, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine Silver in front of him now, his heartbeat thudding hard under his hands- “We’ll get it out of our systems, get our heads on straight.” He wonders if Silver will fuck him like this. The rum's making them both a little sloppy, but then he shifts, and he can feel where Silver is hard, pressed up against him. 

 

At that, though, Silver tears his mouth away from where it had been edging down Flint’s neck. Flint blinks, as Silver takes a staggered step back as well. He looks ruined, and Flint feels heat curl into his gut - out of all his vices, he’s never been one for narcissism, but he can admit that Silver looks good like this,his mouth flushed and pink, his pupils dilated, a faint shimmer where Flint had licked down his neck. But Silver’s disappointed eyes are following him now, his hands grasping and releasing at thin air on either side. 

 

“What-” Silver starts, then he shuts his mouth. “ _Get it out of our systems?”_

 

“That’s what this is, right?” Flint asks, and he assumes that’s what it was, but then Silver’s eyes are growing dark and not with arousal or the alcohol in their systems. 

 

“Sometimes,” Silver says, chest still heaving, eyes now glittering with sudden anger that Flint can’t place the source of, “I cannot _believe_ you.”

 

And then he’s pushing by Flint, opening the door. It slams so hard that it rattles the bookshelf placed it, the books trembling, and Flint can only stare at the space he had been taking up, that they had been taking up, and the sudden absence that it now held. 


	3. Chapter 3

•••

 

 

In all of the years since Thomas, Flint had rarely felt the tug of attraction towards others -a tangle of grief, choice, and lack of opportunity. But with Silver, he _feels_ so sharply, so brightly _-_ and it’s not just arousal, either. Flint has hated Silver, been irritated by him, disgusted by him, but somewhere along the line, it’s changed to something else. Something approaching camaraderie, but underlined with a current that keeps pulling him in, ever since Silver had looked at him, covered in blood on that beach, and had said, _Who do you think it was that pulled you out of the water_?

 

Whatever has mixed in with the attraction - of course he sees the flex of Silver’s arms, the cut of his hip, the curve of his mouth - something that he can’t identify, perhaps due to the strange place that they have fallen in together.

 

The first time, he had pushed Silver away because he was caught off guard, not used to having or wanting something this unknown, and with _Silver_. The second time, Flint had thought that a quick fuck would have clarified things between them, gotten them to move beyond basic human desire - but then Silver had walked away, and Flint had been cast into uncertainty once again. He can’t fathom what Silver wants to coax out of him in the first place, or how he sees a way to manipulate Flint by not falling into bed with him anymore, even as he had looked at him with dark, heady eyes. 

 

It’s eating away at him more than he would have guessed, as he shifts on the cot. As much as he tries, the answer is elusive. Flint rolls onto his side to try to sleep, as Silver’s words follow him into restless slumber. 

 

Eventually, the tread of footsteps leading to the cabin wake him up and he opens his eyes once again as the footsteps pause right outside his door. The door swings open too slowly, as if to warn him, and Flint sits up. 

 

When Silver steps inside, Flint watches him warily. But before he can try to broach the subject, the other man says, “I have to be going to shore soon.” 

 

Flint recalls telling Silver about a meeting he had scheduled with one of the sources about some prize ship - one that Silver wouldn’t be able to come up with an excuse to have Flint come along.

 

Foolishly, Flint wonders if Silver has already passed off last night, springing back easily like he had seen him do so many times, but by the way Silver is not quite looking at him directly, he knows they are not as lucky. The small amount of sleep has not handed him any answers, so he pauses, grasping for a ring to spin around his finger before he realizes that his rings are all on Silver’s fingers right now. 

 

“The source meets me in the brothel,” Flint tells him after a moment, still staring down at Silver’s long fingers. “He’ll be sitting in the back, likely half-drunk. Once he tells you the tip, pay him from the reserves if it’s worth anything. Take Dooley and Joshua.” He pauses. “Perhaps I should find an excuse to go with you, if only to oversee-”

 

“And what, confuse the source, to have the crew lose a potentially lucrative opportunity?” Silver points out. “I can do this.”

 

“If you think that you can,” Flint repeats doubtfully. Something in Silver’s eyes harden, and he amends, “It’s not that I don’t-”

 

“The men are just arriving on the longboats. I’ll be back in a few hours,” Silver says, cutting him off briskly, and then he’s slipping right back out the door. Flint is left staring at the closed door.

 

He suddenly wishes he was back in Nassau right now, if just to be able talk to Miranda. She was always far more intelligent than him, especially in these sort of matters. He misses her with a sharp intensity for a moment, a pang echoing in his chest. Even though they had left on far from polite terms, he can’t help but feel as though she would have some much-needed advice - or even just to lend a sympathetic ear. Right now, he could use that. 

 

Flint can imagine what her response would to this problem, though - no doubt brutally honest, her eyebrows lifted in that way when he knows he’s being stubborn. He smiles, despite himself. 

 

He wonders what she would think of Silver. 

 

•••

 

The first group of longboats come back, and they take Silver back to shore. Flint watches the dark dot of Silver’s head until it disappears behind some of the other ships anchored closer to Port Royal. He’s still standing at the side railing when there’s a whistled greeting coming from beside him.

 

Muldoon, looking rather bedraggled and bleary-eyed, claps a hand on Flint’s back. Flinttries not to flinch at the touch. “Rough night, yeah?” Muldoon says, looking out at the sea as well.

 

“Yeah,” Flint says flatly.

 

He’s in no mood to talk, never mind trying to act as Silver. But before he can turn to leave, Muldoon asks, “You spent the night in the captain’s cabin, was it?” 

 

Flint reminds himself that Muldoon is someone that Silver might call a friend, so he can’tjust push him over the side. Instead, he turns to look at him.   


 

“I did,” Flint says, feeling his mouth thin out dangerously. 

 

What he doesn’t expect is Muldoon’s response to be putting a hand on Flint’s elbow. Flint looks down at his hand, then back at the other man, as Muldoon says, “Listen, I haven’t forgotten what you told me the other day. The captain’s a bit of a bastard, but he does hold you in much higher regard than the rest of the crew already. You’ve been on the ship- for what, a few months now, ain’t it? And he confides far more in you than the rest of us fucks.”   


 

“What’s your point, then?” Flint says tartly, trying to keep too much sharpness out of his tone. 

 

“It’s fucking rough to watch, mate, you dancing around him. But you should try something,” Muldoon urges, and something cold creeps into Flint’s gut. “Just because you’re obviously moon-eyed towards him doesn’t mean that he does’t need another nudge, if you know what I’m saying.”

 

Silver had tried something. And Flint had chased him away, not once, but twice. If it hadn’t been a quick fuck that he was seeking, if what Muldoon is suggesting- 

 

Flint shuts down this particular line of thought. He can’t even begin to consider this, not now, and certainly not in front of the men. But the thought creeps back into his mind. What if Silver was more invested than a quick fuck?

 

The realization dawns on him. 

 

_What if those feelings weren’t unreciprocated?_

 

“You’re a good friend,” Flint says after a long moment, despite his new inner turmoil, and Muldoon scoffs.

 

“You’re lucky I care,” the bald man says, and he claps Flint on the back once more. “You’re a grumpy fuck today, anyways. Come on, I’m gonna tell ya all about the fight Logan and I got into last night.” 

 

•••

 

They’re down below drinking ale, and Flint’s idly listening to some tale about last night’s adventures in Port Royal when there’s a shout overhead. Flint sets the tankard down before anyone else can react, and he strides up to the deck to find the source of the shouting. 

 

One of the crew is talking to Billy, who had arrived back on the Walrus just an hour ago, with wild gestures and heated words. Billy nods sharply, and his eyes fall on Flint. 

 

“Everyone,” Billy says, and the men finish filing up from below decks to listen to him. Flint steps into the crowd, crossing his arms. “The captain has fallen into some trouble on shore with some men. Apparently it’s some personal grudge against him-”

 

One of the men next to him groans. “Not again.”

 

“-and we’re going to send a party out to retrieve him, and our brothers,” Billy reminds them, and his eyes fall on Flint once again. “Silver. Joji. Dobbs. The rest of you, prepare the ship to launch - we should be back in under two hours. It’s likely we’ll be cutting our time in Port Royal short.” 

 

Billy catches Flint’s arm before they board the launch, though. “If Flint’s dug himself into a hole too deep to get out of, this time,” he says, and Flint meets Billy’s eye directly, “We’ll do our best. But we must measure that against the risk of our brother’s lives.” 

  
“That sounds awfully mutinous, Billy,” Flint says cooly, and Billy lets go of his arm. 

 

“It’s not mutinous if it’s common sense,” the man says rather wearily, and Flint is going to have to seriously consider this apparently new streak to Billy’s personality in the near future. In the meanwhile, though, he has a man trapped in his body - and apparently, his reputation -to save. 

 

Flint has never been one to turn to religion, but he sends a silent prayer in case any higher power is listening - _Please don’t let Silver say something that’s going to get him shot in the face before we get there._ He had questions to ask him, damn it.

 

 

•••

 

The brothel is quiet when they step inside, devoid of any customers. The hairs on the back of Flint’s neck stand up as the doors creak open. He glances up to the open second floor, where there are several prostitutes cowering close to the rooms, their whispers floating down to reach their ears before falling silent once more. 

 

The only brothels that are so silent and empty in the middle of the day are ones that are soon to be out of business, but as they step more into the building, the other reason becomes clear. 

 

Flint draws his pistol when he sees Silver and Joshua first, both of whom have raised their pistols. Dooley lays unconscious on the ground next to them, a sluggish wound dripping across his forehead. They are outmatched by more than half a dozen men who are pointing guns right back at them, from the other side of an upturned table. 

 

At least they were, before Flint arrived with three more men. He scans the room, and sees the source cowering in the corner.

 

“Captain,” Flint says, despite Billy shooting him a look at him speaking first, and Silver’s eyes dart to his, “I thought this was to be a simple meeting.” 

 

“You know how these things change,” Silver replies, his voice light even though from here Flint can see the tight grip on his pistol. “Mr. Silver. Billy.”

 

“Captain,” Billy says, hand on his pistol, “We need to leave now.”

 

“I’d love to leave, but it seems here that these men have other ideas,” Silver says, lifting his chin at them. “They have a bit of a problem with me-” 

 

“They’ll have to get in line,” Flint says grimly, and one of the aforementioned men points a gun at him, then. 

  
“Who the fuck are you?” 

 

“They seem to have overheard our source’s information, see,” Silver continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “And now would like to get rid of the competition. They also have a problem with- ah, me.”

 

“I don’t know who the fuck yous are,” the man snarls, “But our problem’s with Flint and his men here. Leave now.” 

 

“Unfortunately for you, he’s our captain,” Billy bites back, and he lifts his gun, then. 

 

“Now, hang on a moment, gentlemen,” Silver says hastily, as the room takes a tense turn. Flint actually rolls his eyes at that - like he would ever say _that_ \- and steps up. 

 

Not caring about the guns pointed at his head, Flint moves until he’s right next to Silver, despite Billy hissing “ _Silver_.” 

 

He looks right at Silver. “They’re expecting a fight,” he says, ignoring Joshua’s incredulous look at him now. “We’ll have to give them one.”

 

“I think you’re forgetting a small part-” Silver starts, and Flint draws the cutlass out of Silver’s- his- belt. “Oh. That’ll work.”

 

Flint smirks, and then he turns to face the others, swinging the blade into a ready stance. 

 

The next few minutes are loud and bloody, following Flint leading the charge by swinging at the man closest to him before he can fire his gun. A beat later, Billy and the others join into the fray, and they manage to catch the men by surprise enough to subdue them quickly. It takes a few more parries with the sword than Flint expects, but he’s also working with an unfamiliar body, his muscles unfamiliar to the movements. 

 

Flint smashes the hilt of his sword into the forehead of the man who had been talking earlier, and he takes a look around. The other men are busy making sure the men are all either dead or maimed enough not to get up, and Billy’s looking at him with a stunned expression.

 

“What is it, Billy?” Flint bites, wiping blood off of his forehead. 

 

“Either you’ve been holding out on us,” Billy says faintly, “Or you’re a lucky bastard, John Silver.” 

 

“I’ve been taking some lessons,” Flint replies, and then he feels a hand grasp his forearm.

 

Silver, looking remarkably put together even as his eyes look slightly wild, tugs at him. “A word,” he says, “ _Mr. Silver,”_ and when he pulls, Flint follows him into one of the adjacent rooms with little fuss. 

 

Silver turns to him as soon as the door clicks shut. “I cannot believe,” he says, “That you just did that.” 

 

“Did what?” Flint says. “Manage the situation, save _you_ -”

 

“I’m not a goddamn fighter, all right?” Silver says rather loudly, then tamps down. “Not that I don’t - appreciate it. But you can see how this could lead to some situations in which the men think I’ve gotten much better with that sword, situations that will no doubt end poorly for me.”

 

“I know,” Flint says, distracted. Silver’s eyes are startlingly blue, irritated, and Flint can’t look away. “Are you injured?” 

 

Silver points at him. “Don’t change the subject. I cannot _believe_ -” He cuts off, running a hand through his red beard frustratedly. “Is this because of last night?” 

 

“What?” Flint asks, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” 

 

“Tell me the truth,” Silver says, and there’s something distant in his eyes then, “Is it in some ways to spare my feelings, to take pity? Because trust me, captain, the last thing that will do either of us any good would be to-”

 

“Silver,” Flint says with the sort of captain-like authority that he can manage even in Silver’s voice, “I’m not sparing your feelings.” 

 

“Then how do you suppose we’ll explain this,” Silver says, looking more frustrated as he gestures between them, “Because I doubt even Billy will take us seriously at anything if we truly suggest that you and I have switched bodies-”

 

“I don’t care,” Flint says, and he takes a step closer. “We’ll make it work.” 

 

“If this is some sort of coping mechanism, so help me-”

 

“Silver.”

  
“Then tell me,” Silver says then, eyes blazing, and Flint knows they’re not talking about explaining what looks like Silver becoming an experienced swordsman literally overnight outside to the men anymore. “ _Tell me_.”

 

“Damn you- I don’t know,” Flint growls, but it sounds more defeated than he intended, as Silver’s face shifts. “I told myself not to trust you. But after everything that’s happened, you’ve become close-” the words catch in his throat, but he swallows. “I don’t know what we are to each other. But I want to figure it out.”

 

There’s a beat. Then Silver sighs, loudly. “There. Was that so hard?” 

 

“Unbearably,” Flint says grimly. He looks to the door behind Silver, feeling a flush climb up his face. “We should be leaving before anyone comes to investigate.” 

 

“We should,” Silver says, still looking at Flint, and Flint can feel anticipation twist in his gut. “But it is Port Royal, after all. No doubt these walls have seen worse.”

 

“Hmm,” Flint says, and he’s quickly losing track of anything outside of this room, as Silver runs the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. Flint recognizes that expression on his own face - it’s not far away from what he looks like when they’re about to attack a ship full of British regulars and he can nearly taste the victory. 

 

“To be absolutely clear, I do want to fuck you,” Silver says, taking a step closer to him. “And once we figure out how to get out of each other’s bodies, I want to do it again, and again. But-” and there’s that expression back again, as though he’s preparing for Flint to turn away for a third, final time, “-this isn’t just about fucking.”

 

“What is this about, then?” Flint says, even as he has to look up to meet Silver’s eyes now, which are hopelessly fixed on his mouth. “Mutual convenience, is it?”   
  
Silver smirks, and Flint’s earring in his ear glints in the light. “It’s because we’d be much better as partners,” Silver tells him, “I think we could do anything we wish, side by side, and who am I if not to take that opportunity?”

 

This time, Flint closes the distance between the two of them, and when he brings Silver in close, Silver kisses him with a sort of intensity that makes his head spin, his mouth hot and open on his. 

 

Flint takes as much as he gives, his hands coming to loop around Silver’s biceps and tugging them both closer until he can feel Silver pressed up all along the length of his body. Silver makes sounds like he’s dying into his mouth as Flint’s nails dig into the skin through the shirt, where he knows he’s sensitive. To his credit, Silver gives as good as he gets, his hands working their way into Flint’s trousers, despite the fact there’s only one thin wall between them and their crew- the crew that’s waiting for them. 

 

Somehow, Flint can’t be bothered with that right now, not with the beard dragging on the side of his neck, prickling him slightly and making him lose his train of thought. When Silver's hand wraps around his painfully hard cock, Flint lets out a low moan that makes him flush at the sound, and Silver buries his face into Flint's neck.

 

“Flint, fuck,” Silver gasps, “I thought you were going to get yourself killed just now, and then I would have followed you into the afterlife to _strangle you_ -”

 

Flint pulls back slightly, as much as he can stand. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he gets out, and Silver grins at him, and he walks them until Flint’s back presses against a wall with a thud before resuming the tight motion of his hand, stripping Flint's cock just fast enough so that Flint's breath is caught in his chest. 

 

“How about this, then- I’m going to fuck you,” Silver says in a low voice, and he seems to know exactly where to drag his nails so that Flint shivers against him, and he knows this is one of the absolute worse times for them to give into the temptation, even as Flint’s eyes squeeze shut when Silver takes in hand. He won’t last long at any rate, not with Silver panting in his ear, despite the fact they’re not touching anywhere _near enough_ as Silver runs a thumb over the head of his cock. 

  
“ _Silver_.” 

  
  
“I’d make it so good for you,” Silver continues, his eyes hot on Flint’s face as he traces a hand up Flint’s spine with his other hand, mapping each bump with the shift of his fingers, working him steadily with the other, and Flint is _on fire_ \- “I know everywhere to touch, to taste, to make you forget your name. I’d fuck you until you’d forgotten that anything else exists.”

 

He leans down to whispers into Flint’s ear, “You’d take it so well for me, wouldn’t you? I know how this body can take a cock, but I think you’d love it, you need it, you need _me_ -” and Flint’s entire body is seizing, his moans tucked into Silver’s neck while he comes in hot pulses in Silver’s callused palm. It would be embarrassing how quickly it’s over, if he didn’t feel utterly boneless, slumping against Silver despite the wall at his back as they both remain standing. 

 

As Flint tries to regain his sight, Silver lets out a surprised exhale, but not sounding annoyed in the slightest. “Captain, I admit, I did not expect some dirty talk to be so efficient,” he says, “But I suppose I am a very lucky man, right?” 

 

“I think you should stop talking,” Flint gets out, but his limbs are all loose as he takes a wobbly step forward, Silver moving with him. “Christ. Let me-” 

 

Silver arches into Flint’s touch at first, but then he sways back, despite Flint pawing at his trousers. “I think I’ll wait for back on the ship. Wouldn't want my old man knees to give out and all. Plus, I think we scandalized Billy once again.”

 

Flint’s going to let him have this one, since in this moment, he’s still trying to catch his breath. 

 

Silver waits until Flint’s able to think slightly more clearly, helping him to adjust his clothes so it’s slightly less apparent what exactly went down in this room - they’re going to fail miserably if Silver can’t wipe that smug look off his face - before they open the door again. 

 

On the other side, Billy looks about one foot tap away from truly starting a mutiny, and he sends a low glare to Flint before looking to Silver. “We should be going,” Billy says, his ears red. “Luckily, no guards have been called.”

 

“Excellent,” Silver says, and he has the audacity to wink. “Someone carry Dooley, then.” 

 

 

•••

 

Back on the ship, the men crowd around once they climb up the side- but as Billy gives orders for them to set sail, they are forced to go back to work. 

 

Silver proceeds to give the world’s shittiest impression of Flint before dragging Flint once again to the cabin. Flint tells him as much, before Silver quite literally pushes him down onto the cot, and Flint is finding himself very amenable to his proposal of what they should do instead. 

 

If they’re about to be thrown overboard, anyways, he might as well enjoy this while it lasted.

 

Some time later, when the sun has fallen low enough in the sky in the late afternoon, Flint blinks to awareness. But he doesn’t quite have the energy to fully open his eyes yet, since his head hurts already. He feels sore all over, deep down in his bones beyond their previous activities. His knee twinges, then, and he wonders if it’s going to rain-

 

His knee. Flint doesn’t want to open his eyes, at first, but as always, he forces himself to confront reality just in case- 

 

“Shit,” Silver says from next to him apparently awake now. Flint opens his eyes, sees Silver touching his own face. “We’ve-”

 

“-reverted,” Flint ends for him, and he runs a hand over his beard, his own face, as he looks at Silver. 

 

Silver lets out a joyous sound when he tugs his hair in his hands. “I never thought I’d say this, but I missed my body so much,” he says, looking down at himself with no small amount of awe at his bare thighs. “I feel _young_ again.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Flint says, as he stretches on the bed. The sheet that had been slung over his bare hips slips down, and Silver casts a speculative look down at him. 

 

Then he’s yelping as Flint tugs him down, rolling over until he’s trapped on the cot. 

 

“We have some making up to do,” Flint informs him, hands already dipping low on Silver’s back, mapping out the lines of muscle there. “Before, it didn’t count.”

 

“ _Didn’t count?_ Captain, I fail to see your justification, especially given the evidence of the noises you were making just before,” Silver starts, before Flint’s kissing him once again, this time slowly as their fingers twine together. 

 

•••

 

Eventually, they do have to separate to address the crew. Flint never would have thought he would feel so joyous to put his own boots on his own feet, but then again, here he is. It’s been a strange few days, he’s learning to take nothing for granted. 

 

They step out of the cabin, and already, the men begin to gather in front of them. Flint clears his throat once the group becomes a sufficient size, and the men look at him expectantly, some with dark expressions. 

 

“I’m sure that rumors of what happened in Port Royal have already spread to the ears of every man aboard,” Flint begins, and one of the men scoffs. 

  
“Yeah- when did the cook become such a swordsman, eh?” There are suspicious looks being directed at them, and across the group, Billy crosses his broad arms. 

 

“And what’s up with them?” another man says, narrowing his eyes. “The cook getting friendly with the captain all the sudden, what’s that about?”

 

“The truth it, the situation was far more complex,” Flint begins, already trying to see a way to explain this, but then he’s cut off- and not by Silver, for once. 

 

“You two are fucking!” Dooley exclaims, rather impatiently, holding a cloth to the cut on his head from earlier. “For Christ’s sake.”

 

There’s a murmur in the crowd, as Flint stares him down. Dooley, to his credit, does look like he’s severely regretting his outburst, now staring down at his boots. 

 

“Huh,” Silver says from beside him. “Well, they got us there.” 

 

Flint prepares to reply more to that, but then he sees the understanding dawn in the mens’ eyes, as his silence evidently confirmed Dooley’s words. The suspicious mutters turn into groans of realization, and to his surprise, even some assenting nods, as the crew murmur to each other. Some of their eyes flicker from Flint to Silver, but none of them look absolutely stunned at this development.

 

Apparently, having an affair with a crew member was in the acceptable range for actions for captains to commit. Flint sees the situation through their eyes- Silver moving in and out of Flint’s quarters at odd hours, Silver defending him, Flint quite clearly setting Silver apart from the others, seeking his council- favoritism, no doubt, but favoritism in ways that the crew could understand. 

 

Silver clears his throat, and the men look to him. “I’ll admit, I was, ah, somewhat surprised myself at how passionately I fought today. But men, I have found _brothers_ on this crew, and when those men insulted you, as well as my captain, my lover- “ Flint’s going to push him over the side, excellent sex be damned - “I could not let the insult stand.” He pauses, dramatically. “I am a Walrus man, now, and that has let me go farther than what I could have ever conceived.”

 

It’s possibly the most bullshit Flint’s ever heard Silver say at once, and that’s saying something. But more of the men are nodding then, and a few look like they’re ready to fucking applaud.

 

Flint hates how easily this could be explained right now, but also can’t believe his- their- luck. He stays silent, then, as the men look significantly less mutinous. 

 

Billy is the first to speak when Flint doesn’t look like he’s going to add that particular note. “Men, we have a ship to run, if that’s all. Back to work,” he orders, and the men break apart slowly, with a few more looks thrown between Flint and Silver. 

 

Flint glances over at Silver when they’re alone once more. “Did-”

 

“If you’re going to say, did that just happen, then yes,” Silver says. He winces, then. “I’m going to have to learn how to fight for real, aren’t I?”

 

“I was going to say,” Flint shoots back, ignoring that second part because as soon as they get to Nassau, Flint’s going to make him spend hours in brutal training just for that speech, “Did they just accept all of this as some side effect of our- relationship?” 

 

“Well, it’s been a rather illuminating sort of day for all of us,” Silver says. “I am glad to be back though.” 

 

Flint snorts, opting to look back out at the sea, feeling the ship hum beneath their feet as she sails onwards. The tension begins to slump out of his shoulders, and he watches Port Royal grow smaller and smaller. “I suppose we’ll never know what exactly happened. I’m not quite sure I would want to know, even if this was some sort of mutual fever dream.”

 

“If this was a dream, I’d hate to wake up,” Silver says, and his eyes are innocently wide when Flint turns to stare at him. “Something the matter, captain?” 

 

Flint scoffs, but it sounds weak even to his ears when it’s tempered down by the fondness coloring his tone. “You’re still a shit.” 

 

Silver smirks, then follows his gaze out to the horizon. “I’m going to miss one thing, though,” he says, and Flint turns to look at him.

 

“What’s that?” 

 

“Ordering this crew around,” Silver says, and Flint lets out a small, incredulous sound. “I think the power truly went straight to my head.” 

 

Flint snorts, and when he starts back to the cabin, Silver follows him easily. “If we are to be partners, Mr. Silver, I would daresay that some new power comes with the new position.” 

 

“And what other _benefits_ might this new position have?” Silver asks teasingly, closing the door behind him and tugging Flint in closer. “Would you say that there might be some mutual... benefits, to this situation?” 

 

“Are you quite done?” Flint asks, pulling Silver in by his belt loops so that he can better appreciate the exact color blue his irises are. Silver smiles in response, a gleam in his eye. 

 

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Silver tells him, before tilting his head up for another kiss. 

 

Flint thinks that with the sort of endless possibility stretched out in front of them, he might agree that in this case, Silver might just be right. 

 

•••

 

Logan wakes up to tapping on his shoulder. “Fucking wake up, Logan,” a voice- Muldoon - hisses. 

 

He rubs a hand over his eyes, not opening them. “The fuck?” 

 

Muldoon looks horrified. “You know how the captain and Silver were acting so strange? _Acting like each other_ , even?”

 

“Yeah?” Logan says impatiently, wanting to go back to sleep.

 

“Remember that old crone we stole a shilling from, the one who said she’d curse our ship a few weeks back?” 

 

“For Christ’s sake, I do, and I don’t feel guilty, if that’s what-”

 

“Logan, she knew we were Walrus men. What if-” and Muldoon stops, looking around them as if he’s worried they’ll be overheard.

 

“What if _what_?” 

 

“What if _she made the captain and Silver switch bodies_ ,” Muldoon says quietly, urgently, “Because they were the only ones who’ve been on Nassau since? Think about it, how they were acting so strangely-”

 

Logan rubs his eyes. “You’re insane,” he says wearily, “They were just hiding the fact that Silver’s in the captain’s bed, you remember. And now you’re going to let me go the fuck back to sleep.” 

 

“ _I gave Flint love advice_ ,” he hears Muldoon whisper, sounding horrified, and Logan throws a pillow at his head.

 

•••


End file.
